


And May Your Heart Be Merry

by EclecticMuse



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fitz is the grumpiest mall elf in existence, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Fluff, Gen, Jemma's POV, Pining, Pre-Academy Era, how do you tag, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons has never met anyone who hates Christmas as much as Leopold Fitz does--which makes the fact that he's taken a job as a shopping mall Santa's elf very, very strange. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And May Your Heart Be Merry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notapepper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/gifts).



> Written for notapepper's (typhanni's) Tumblr Fitzsimmons Secret Santa prompt, which was Temp Job: Shopping Mall Elves. Merry Christmas, love! I hope it's what you wanted.
> 
> This is my first time writing for AoS, so I'm a bit nervous. It was a last-minute addition to notapepper's gift and it sort of, well, got away from me. This story is also unbeta'd, so all mistakes and science fail and MIT fail are mine all mine.
> 
> There is also some associated artwork I did that can be found at [DeviantArt](http://eclecticmuse.deviantart.com/art/Fitzsimmons-May-Your-Heart-Be-Merry-501719708) and [Redbubble](http://www.redbubble.com/people/eclecticmuse/works/13426742-fitzsimmons-may-your-heart-be-merry).

Jemma Simmons loved Christmas.

There was just something infectious to her about the holiday season, a general feeling of cheer and goodwill that pervaded the air and only came during that time of year. She loved wearing coats and scarves and feeling the cold nip at her nose, she loved the decorations and the music, and she loved shopping for gifts for her family.

Most of all, she loved spending time with her family. However, she had been going to school abroad for a few years and, in order to save her parents the expense of a costly plane ticket home, she had decided to stay in Cambridge for the holidays. She would miss everyone, of course, but it wouldn’t be so bad. She had become used to being mostly alone--an occupational hazard of being exceptionally gifted academically and therefore much younger than all her classmates--so she was sure this wouldn’t be any different. She would just have to find some Christmas cheer on her own.

And what better way to do that than to take on a seasonal job? It would get her out and about and around people, and earn her a little extra spending money to boot. She spent a few days in the middle of November searching for jobs online and when she came across an ad for Santa’s helpers at a winter wonderland display and photography booth at the local shopping mall, she thought she’d found the perfect one. She called the number listed immediately.

They called her in for an interview, which went well, and before she knew it she had been given her uniform--more of a costume, really, a green belted dress with candy-stripe stockings, boots, and an elf hat--and scheduled to start work immediately after she finished her exams for the term.

Her first day of work, Jemma arrived early and eager to get started, smiling at the shoppers she passed as she headed for the staff break room. When she got there, the room was empty aside from a woman in a security uniform drinking coffee and watching a small TV, and a young man dressed in an elf outfit similar to her own.

She eyed him curiously as she found a hook on the wall to hang her bag, coat, and scarf from, then found her time card and slid it into the puncher. He looked to be about her age, possibly even younger, with sandy blonde curls and a pleasant face. Or, she was sure it would have been pleasant if he hadn’t been scowling, attention focused firmly on scrolling through his phone.

“Erm…” She approached him carefully. “Hello. Are you working the Santa workshop as well? I mean, of course you are, we’re dressed the same, so--”

His head had snapped up at the sound of her voice. It was probably her accent, she thought; even in Cambridge and Boston and at as diverse a campus as MIT, people were often surprised to learn she was English. However, at the mention of the workshop his face dropped back into a scowl and he turned back to his phone. “Yes, I’m working the _bloody_ workshop,” he muttered.

And then it was her turn to be surprised, because instead of an American accent, he had a distinctly Scottish brogue. Her stomach twisted with a faint sense of homesickness; then she fumbled for a moment, slightly thrown by his tone and his abrupt dismissal of her. “Oh. Well.” Her voice had gone all squeaky from anxiety. “That’s good. I guess we’ll be working together?”

To her growing dismay, he rolled his eyes before turning to put his phone in his coat pocket. “Yeah. And we’re about to be late.” He grabbed his hat off the table in the middle of the room and jammed it on his head, turning to leave without so much as a glance back at her.

She stared for a second before she came to her senses and hurried after him, skipping to catch up. “I’m Jemma,” she said, choosing to stay cheerful. “Jemma Simmons. What’s your name?”

His reply was so quiet that she didn’t catch it. “Sorry?”

“Fitz,” he shot back, louder.

“Oh.” She paused. “Just Fitz?”

He rolled his eyes again and sighed. “My first name’s Leopold, but no one except my mum calls me that or Leo, so don’t you dare. Just Fitz is fine.” They turned the corner by the food court and the workshop came into view at the far end of the hall. Jemma didn’t think it was possible for a person to frown anymore than he already was, but he managed it. “Ah, there it is. My own personal purgatory.”

She looked at him, perplexed. The workshop had only been open for a short while, maybe a week at most. Had he already worked it long enough to hate it? That didn’t exactly bode well for her future. Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling so sure of her choice of a holiday pastime.

“It can’t be that bad,” she said, mostly to convince herself. She took in the line of children waiting to see Santa--not very long this early in the season--and shook her head.

“Trust me,” he said darkly, “it is.” He opened the little gate at the side and reluctantly went through, closing it once she followed him in. “Welcome to hell.”

-:-

It didn’t take long for Jemma to decide that the job wasn’t really that terrible at all, and that Fitz was quite possibly the grumpiest mall elf in existence. He never smiled, treated the children as if they were bombs about to explode, and refused to engage her in any sort of conversation during gaps between visitors. She even frequently heard him muttering to himself under his breath.

In the end Jemma took it upon herself to come up with a system that worked best for them, which minimized the amount of social interaction Fitz had to deal with. Getting complaints on her first day of work simply because her partner was a Grinch wouldn’t do. So she positioned herself at the front gate and cheerfully greeted visitors when they arrived, while Fitz took their money and doled out change. Then she would lead the children over to Charles, their Santa-in-residence, and get them settled in his lap and ready for their picture. Fitz helped with that as needed, and once the photo was taken he showed them the way out the side gate. It seemed to work, and Jemma gave herself a pat on the back during her lunch break for a job well done.

When their shift was over and Charles gave them the all clear, Fitz immediately bolted for the staff room. By the time she got there, he was long gone. She sighed and gathered her things before heading back out into the mall. Getting a little Christmas shopping done early seemed like a good way to lift her spirits. Her first day had gone well, but it could have been better. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be paired up to work with Fitz very often. The thought of having to spend an entire month with nothing but his scowl to keep her company was exhausting.

-:-

The hope turned out to be futile. After three shifts with him and one without (which had been delightful), the schedule had been revised and Jemma had been horrified to see that she’d been assigned to work exclusively with Fitz for the remainder of the season. Olivia, her manager, had a vague explanation, something to do with the fact that their combined British charm gave the workshop an extra bit of festivity.

“But he’s _awful_. Have you seen him? He’s an actual Scrooge, I swear.” Privately, Jemma felt that Fitz had all the charm of a bent, rusted spoon. “I have no idea why he’s even working here, he clearly hates it.”

Olivia had simply smiled and shrugged. “Everyone has their reasons, I guess. But you’ll be fine. You’re cheerful enough for the both of you.” She closed her schedule book. “Plus, no one besides you even tries to put up with him.”

Feeling more than a bit disheartened, Jemma punched in her time card and walked out to the workshop. Fitz glanced up at her from where he was showing a family out of the side gate, and she thought she saw him frown slightly--but it was impossible to tell, because he never did anything but frown. Instead of her usual bright greeting, she gave him a small wave before moving to take her spot at the front gate. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and forced herself to smile. She wouldn’t let her disappointment over her work schedule get in the way of doing a good job.

After seven customers, Fitz’s continued frowning and muttering, and the feeling of his eyes burning holes into the back of her head, she turned to look at him. “So, you hate Christmas.”

Fitz stared at her like she had just stated the obvious. She had.

“What I don’t understand,” she continued, looking at the giant Christmas tree that made up the back of their set, “is why someone who hates Christmas as much as you seem to would take a job working as a Santa elf. At Christmas. It’s a bit counter-intuitive.”

The look Fitz gave her was withering. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he snapped, then stepped past her as another customer came up to the front gate. Where he couldn’t see, Jemma sighed and rolled her eyes. Another attempt at conversation shot down. She was very close to giving up and resigning herself to a month of frustration and misery--she’d tried every avenue of conversation she could think of, and nothing had worked.

When their shift ended, Fitz again rushed off to the staff room, but for the first time he was still there when she came in. They put on their coats and scarves in silence and, as usual, he left without any sort of goodbye. Jemma wasn’t far behind him, though, and it didn’t take long after exiting the mall for her to realize they were headed for the same bus stop. Fitz didn’t realize she was there until she came to stand near him in the shelter; he startled slightly, turning to look at her in surprise before turning away again just as quickly. She didn’t say anything, just kept her eyes trained out across the road. After a moment, he looked at her again.

“So...following me home, are we?” It was a flat attempt at a joke, his voice stuck somewhere between curiosity and wariness. Jemma smiled slightly.

“Hardly. I’m headed home too--this is my stop.”

Fitz grimaced and looked away, crossing his arms. Then, to her surprise, he spoke again. “Where’s, uh...where’s home?”

Now she was curious. Was he actually attempting small talk with her, now, after nearly a week of ignoring her? “Back to my university,” she said after a moment. “MIT. I’m studying there.”

It took her a second to realize that Fitz was no longer frowning at her; in fact, he actually looked interested. His face really did look pleasant when he wasn’t scowling, she thought dimly.

“Seriously?” he said. “Me too--I mean, that’s where I’m at as well. What are you studying?”

Jemma almost laughed, turning at the sound of the bus approaching. “Oh, I see how it is. You find out I actually have a head on my shoulders, and _now_ you want to talk.” Typical, really. She was used to it, having to fight to be taken just as seriously as her male counterparts. Of course Fitz wouldn’t be any different.

To his credit though, he flushed and ducked his head in shame as the bus doors opened and they got on. “I’m sorry--it’s just--I’m not used to--”

“Meeting other students outside of class?” she supplied.

“Something like that.” He didn’t hesitate in taking a seat next to her; she chose to let that slide. “I figured you were a student because of you being English and all, but I didn’t think we would be at the same school. Huh. Imagine that.”

“Imagine that,” she repeated, humming in agreement. “And to answer your question, I’m biochem.” Here she paused for a second; this was the part that always got the biggest reaction, and what also alienated her from a lot of people. “I’m going for my second PhD, actually. I already have one for chemistry, this one’s for biophysics and the like.”

As expected, Fitz’s eyes widened while his mouth dropped open. “ _Second_ PhD?” he sputtered. “Christ, how old are you?”

Standard response, too. Jemma fought the urge to bristle. “Nineteen.”

Fitz sank back in his seat. “They’d said there was another student like me around,” he said, half to himself. When she looked up in confusion--surely he couldn’t mean--he was looking at her as if seeing her for the very first time all over again. “I’m the same age as you,” he said by way of an explanation. “Nineteen. And--I might not be on my second doctorate like you, but I _am_ on my first. I’m in engineering.”

Surprise and shock hit her at the same time, and Jemma could only stare back at Fitz in wonder. His first comment suddenly made sense--she’d heard mention from some of her professors and classmates that there was another student there, in engineering, who was just as young as she was and just as brilliant. Over the years she had given thought a few times to searching her mystery genius out, but she’d always ended up so focused on her work that she’d forgotten about it. But lo and behold, here he was, sitting next to her on the bus wearing a ridiculous elf costume, looking just as surprised to find her this way as she was to find him.

“You’re my mystery genius,” she breathed.

His face scrunched up. “I’m what?”

“You said people had mentioned another student like you. It was the same for me--my professors said you were there, but they never gave a name. Sometimes I thought about searching you out myself, but I always got distracted. Now here you are!” She smiled brightly, feeling her heart expand in her chest. “Oh, you have no idea how nice it is to finally meet you. Or maybe you do. I’m sure we’ve got very similar experiences, having gone through school so quickly and all. When did you first come here?”

In her excitement she’d completely forgotten that Fitz was a sour grouch, and apparently he had too. The way his face lit up as they started exchanging stories about their schooling was completely unlike anything she’d seen on him before, and it was so refreshing she found herself hoping he would stay looking that way in the future. It was _much_ better than being scowled at all day.

They kept their conversation going all the way back to campus, and during the walk to where most of the dorms were. Fitz stopped in the middle of a story about one of his students from his previous term as a teaching assistant and nodded down a fork in the sidewalk.

 “This is me,” he said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, yeah?”

Jemma smiled and nodded. “Tomorrow morning,” she confirmed. “Bright and early.”

Fitz hung his head. “Too early.” He sighed melodramatically, looking more like his grumpy self. “Right. Bye, Jemma.”

“Goodbye, Fitz.” Waving to him, Jemma turned and walked away in the direction of her dorm, feeling very much pleased at the day’s turn of events. Maybe there was hope for her Christmas season after all.

-:-

The next morning, Fitz didn’t frown or scowl at her. Instead he nodded and quietly said “morning, Jemma” as she went past him to the front gate. She counted it as a definite improvement.

Two days later, she asked if she could sit with him on their dinner break. The food court was overcrowded with holiday shoppers and table space was at a premium; she didn’t have time to take her food back to the staff room, so when she saw him sitting alone at a small table with one empty seat across from him, she seized the opportunity. Fitz actually seemed glad to see her, readily making space for her food, though once she sat down he didn’t seem inclined to talk much. That was fine. They had a limited time to eat anyway.

“I’m doing it for my mum,” he said suddenly, after they had finished eating and dumped their trash.

She blinked at him. “Come again?”

“Working here.” He gestured at himself and his uniform, then in the general direction of the workshop. “I’m doing it for my mum.” When her only reply was to raise a curious eyebrow, he sighed and took a long sip from the straw of his drink. “We didn’t have much when I was growing up,” he said after a moment. “I’m here on scholarship, but I don’t have a lot beyond that, you know? I thought it might be good of me to make some money on my own so she could keep some of her own for herself. Plus, maybe I’ll have enough saved up to go and visit in the spring. She’d like that.”

Jemma’s heart fluttered unexpectedly. “You must love your mum very much,” she said, careful to keep her teasing light, “if you’re willing to suffer through all of this for her.”

For the very first time, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “My mum’s the best. She’s worth it.”

Seeing him smile made her heart flutter again, and she looked away. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m here for much the same reason. A plane ticket home was just too much this year, and I thought the extra spending money would be nice. It gets me out of my room. And I love Christmas.”

They were back at the side gate to the workshop. “That makes one of us at least,” Fitz muttered as he straightened his hat and went in.

-:-

By the 15th, they had a routine.

If they worked the morning shift, Jemma brought a coffee for Fitz and tea for herself. If they worked nights, Fitz bought them both tea before they headed back from dinner. Breaks were spent together, talking as much as they could about anything and everything in between bites of food (and how Fitz managed to pack down three slices of pizza while still carrying his end of the conversation was beyond her). When their shifts ended, if they didn’t have errands to run, they rode the bus back to campus together and said their goodbyes at the fork in the sidewalk near their dorms.

It was nice. More than nice, really. Fitz rarely ever smiled still, but his sour work mood had lost some of its edge, and every once in awhile she even made him laugh. More and more, she found herself looking forward to work not because it was an opportunity to share in the Christmas spirit, but because it meant seeing Fitz. She’d quickly become used to having him around, and he fit into her life so easily that it was almost difficult to fathom a time when they hadn’t known each other. Talking to another person had never been so effortless.

They hadn’t met yet outside of work--Fitz was very private and seemed to guard his personal life very firmly--but that didn’t matter so much because they saw each other nearly every day anyway.

As the days passed and Christmas drew ever nearer, the thought that all good things had to come to an end passed through Jemma’s mind more than once, but she pushed it from her mind. She could worry about that later. They still had time.   

-:-

“Is this how time normally passes? Really slowly, in the right order?”

It was an exceptionally slow Thursday morning. Their line was empty, Charles was reading a magazine, and Fitz was leaning up against the ticket booth, chin in hand as he stared off into the middle distance.

Jemma took a sip of her tea before setting it down out of sight, and walked over to join him. “You never mentioned you watched Doctor Who.”

“Hmm?” Fitz glanced over at her. “Oh. Did I say that out loud?”

She laughed quietly and nudged him with her elbow. “Yes.”

Fitz shrugged and grumbled, looking back out across the mall. “It’s just so slow today. Which gives me time to actually notice the music they play here. I _hate_ it.”

Jemma listened for a moment. It was standard Christmas fare pumped in over the mall’s speaker system, the same as it had been all month, though it was probably at least the fourth time that day she recalled hearing O Come, All Ye Faithful.

“Fitz, it’s Christmas,” she said patiently. “They have to play it! Besides, I think it’s nice. It’s very festive, it puts people in a holiday mood.”

“Yes, well.” He scowled at nothing in particular. “I can only handle so much Bing Crosby before I suffer a mental break.”

She laughed out loud at that, squeezing her eyes shut and reaching out to steady herself on his shoulder. “You really do hate Christmas, don’t you?”

“It’s not funny,” he retorted, though his voice lacked any real venom, and he glanced at her hand as it fell away from him. “And all this? What we do?” He pointed to the ticket roll and the cash box, then at Charles and the gates. “Trained monkeys could do it. They wouldn’t have a problem dressing up like bloody Santa elves, either. They’d be happy to.” When she started laughing again, Fitz leveled a glare at her. “No, you laugh, but they could! Instead of paying us to stand here and humiliate ourselves for the ungrateful masses all day, they could pay me to train monkeys to do it and you and I could sit at home, free as you please, and do whatever we like. Anything but this.”

Jemma gasped, trying to catch her breath after laughing so hard, fighting not to smile at his use of _you and I_ and _we_. “Well, that’s very nice, but what about--”

“Oh, shite, we’ve got company,” Fitz suddenly hissed, tapping her arm hard with one finger. “Look.”

She swallowed her laughter and stood up straight, tugging down on her skirt and trying to compose her face into something professional. Approaching them were two women with three small children between them, ranging in age from an infant to a toddler. “Hello!” Jemma chirped as they reached the front gate. “Welcome to the Galleria Winter Wonderland. Are you here to have your picture taken with Santa today?”

“Yes,” one of the women said, smiling, as the other dug through her purse for her wallet. “We’d like to get all three children at once, if possible.”

“Ooh, that might be a bit tricky for Santa, but I’m sure it’s nothing he can’t handle,” Jemma said, and looked over her shoulder back at Charles. “Right, Santa?”

Charles shrugged gamely, as pleasant as ever, and patted his knees. “We’ll make it work.”

Jemma turned back to smile at the woman as Fitz took cash from the other lady, handing her a ticket stub in return. “Right then! Let’s get your little ones settled then, if you’ll just follow me....” She stepped aside while the first woman led the oldest toddler in by the hand, walking him straight up to Charles.

“I think he would look best standing right there next to Santa’s knee,” their photographer said, pointing.

“I’ll stay here while you get the others,” Jemma said to the woman, then looked at Fitz, who was still standing by the ticket booth. “Fitz!”

 _What?_ he mouthed back.

She nodded for him to come closer. _I might need your help with this._

He gave her a long-suffering look before crossing over to stand next to her, looking uncertain as both women came forward with the two youngest children in their arms. Then he stepped back as, with Jemma’s help, they got both babies settled on Charles’s lap, one in each arm. Satisfied that they were secure, the women went to stand back behind the photographer, Jemma and Fitz following.

Once the women were out of sight, both babies promptly burst into tears.

“Oh! Oh dear, oh no,” Jemma cried, twisting her hands. They’d been very lucky so far in the crying child department, only having had to deal with a few who cheered up quickly, and never two at the same time. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like anything the women did--peekaboo, holding up a favorite toy, making cooing noises--would help. Even the toddler looked distressed.

“Fitz, do something,” Jemma whispered frantically.

“What? Me? Why me?” he cried, looking betrayed.

“Well, nothing they’re doing is working, and they can’t have a bad picture--”

“Oh, because I am clearly such an authority on small, tiny humans--”

“Fitz!”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He took a step forward and waved his arms to get the children’s attention. “Oi! Babies.” Then he raised his hands to his face, wiggled his fingers, and blew a giant raspberry.

All three children froze and stared at him. So did Jemma.

Then one of the babies laughed.

“Wow!” One of the women looked thrilled. “That worked! You’re a lifesaver. Do it again!”

Fitz closed his eyes briefly, then wiggled his fingers again and blew another raspberry. That time, all three children laughed, and the photographer seized his chance. The camera lights flashed, and Fitz dropped his hands back down to his sides.

Jemma very purposefully didn’t look at him until she had helped get all three children back in their strollers and sent on their way. When she did, he was standing with his hands on his hips and a look on his face that very clearly said _never speak of this again_.

He looked adorable.

“I’m telling you, Jemma,” he said, very seriously. “Trained monkeys.”

She laughed. “Oh, _Fitz_.”

-:-

The Sunday before Christmas dawned on the coldest day of the year. A snowstorm had blown through overnight, slowing traffic down throughout the city; as a result, Jemma was almost late for work.

It was a sign of things to come, apparently. That night proved to be their busiest yet and unhappy children were out in force. Jemma’s smile felt strained at times, her patience worn thin, and Fitz had regressed back into the muttering, scowling grump she’d first met. It was just stress, she reasoned. It was the end of the last weekend before Christmas, the last chance of a full day of shopping for most people, and everyone was worn down. That was it. This too would pass.

Fitz was uncharacteristically quiet during their dinner break. She didn’t mind too much, even if now she was very aware that she had mere days left with him and wanted to spend as much time as she could soaking everything about him in.

Even if she was aware that he spent most of dinner staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

(She couldn’t linger on that. She _couldn’t_. It would just remind her of her growing awareness that she wanted _more_ with him, that she wanted to know him outside of their job, to spend days and weeks and maybe even forever with him, learning everything about each other. It was a very strong emotion for someone she hadn’t known for very long, and she was afraid that if she said anything it would scare him off. She couldn’t tell him when she had no way of knowing if he felt even near the same.)

Fitz waited for her by the door to the staff room at the end of their shift, and once she was ready they walked quietly out of the mall into the cold, windy night. He instantly frowned and burrowed his face deeper into his scarf.

“Buses might still be running late,” he said, voice muffled. “Hope we won’t have to wait too long.”

Jemma shivered and shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets, wincing at the way the wind cut straight through her stockings. Not for the first time, she cursed the impractical aspects of her uniform.

The bus shelter was empty when they reached it. She wasn’t surprised. “I wonder if everyone else called a cab,” she mused quietly.

“Probably,” Fitz said. His mouth was completely hidden by his scarf, the tips of his nose and ears red in the cold. “Think we should?”

“No,” she replied after a moment. “We walked all the way out here, and the buses are running. Just slow. I checked before we left.”

A strong gust of wind blew through then, and Fitz let out an irritated huff, crossing his arms even more tightly across his chest. “I hope it gets here soon,” he grumbled. “Because it is absolutely bloody _freezing_ out here.”

Jemma fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, you’re lucky,” she pointed out. “At least your uniform has trousers. You can layer if you need to, to keep warm. All I have is this dress and these lousy stockings.” She shifted her weight quickly from one foot to the other and back again to prove her point before shivering with a sigh. “But I can wear boots. Boots with extra socks. That’s something.”

When Fitz didn’t immediately reply she looked over at him, and was surprised to see him looking thoughtfully at her as if he was considering something. After a moment, he stood up straight and started to unzip his coat. “Come here.”

Eyebrows drawing together in confusion, Jemma walked over to him. When she stopped, Fitz reached out to her shoulders, gently turning her so her back was to him. Then he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and stepped forward until he was lightly pressed against her back and—carefully, hesitantly—wrapped his arms around her, folding her into the warmth of both his body and his coat.

It was probably a good thing he couldn’t see her face, she mused, because her eyes were wide with surprise (and maybe a little delight). After a prolonged beat she breathed out and let herself relax into him, leaning back against his chest. Accepting that she wasn’t going to push him away, Fitz’s arms tightened around her slightly before he settled his chin on her shoulder. “How’s that?” he murmured.

Jemma swallowed. “Good,” she said quietly, and smiled to herself. “Thank you.”

The truth was that while overall she was warmer, her legs were still exposed and therefore still cold, but Fitz’s gesture was so unexpected and sweet and _wanted_ that she didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

Plus, she rather liked the feeling of the butterflies now fluttering around her stomach.

They fell into a comfortable silence. Jemma let her eyes go unfocused as she tuned her other senses to everything that was Fitz. There was the slight rise and fall of his chest against her back as he breathed, the brush of his cheek against hers and the rasp of faint stubble; the way he fidgeted every so often and the way he smelled, like soap and cinnamon and something else indefinable and _male_. Combined, it brought on all the feelings and emotions she’d been suppressing, that were as exciting as they were alarming. She’d only known Fitz for a month and was barely sure they could be called friends, but underneath his prickly exterior she’d seen glimpses of something familiar, something that called out strongly to her. She was certain that in him, she’d found a kindred spirit: both blessed and cursed by superior intelligence, of being at the very forefront of their fields academically but used to a certain loneliness socially by virtue of always being so much younger than their peers. She’d never met anyone who could keep up with her rapid-fire thought process the way Fitz could. The way they’d fallen so easily into conversations over lunch and dinner had been like seeing the sun after years of rain and fog.

And now he was holding her, shielding her from the cold as if they’d known each other for years, as if personal space wasn’t a thing that existed between them, and it felt so easy and natural and _right_ that it left her feeling more than a bit breathless. Was it truly possible to already feel so connected to someone she barely knew? Did he feel the same way? Jemma was back to trying to think of ways to keep him in her life past Christmas, of trying for something more than temporary coworkers. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she let Fitz go, she would never find another person like him. Ever.

Hyper-aware of his presence as she was, Jemma felt it some minutes later when Fitz let out a long, slow breath. She started to turn her head towards his when she thought better of it; they were far too close physically for it to be anything but awkward. “What is it?” she asked quietly. “Am I--?”

What? Too close? Too warm? Too anything?

“No, no, you’re fine,” Fitz said in a rush, his breath fogging the air. “I just…”

Jemma stayed quiet after he trailed off, sensing that he was working his way up to saying something. After a moment, he took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Want to know a secret?”

She nodded, unsure where his thoughts were going.

“I hate Christmas because it’s when my dad left,” he said. “When I was eight. I don’t even remember why, exactly. Just that he and my mum had already been fighting for ages and that day was the last straw. He just picked up and left us. Never came back. Broke my mum’s heart. It’s been just me and her ever since.” He sighed. “Well...she really doesn’t even have me anymore. Not since I came here for school.”

Jemma’s heart had panged sharply in her chest at his confession; now she was at war with herself, wanting to turn and look at him or maybe take his hand and squeeze it in some meager offer of comfort, but somehow also knowing that having her facing away from him was the only thing letting him speak. Instead, she tilted her head towards him until her temple lightly bumped against his. A second later she felt him return the pressure. It was better than nothing.

“And it was Christmas the last time I saw him,” Fitz added after another pause. “Right after I got my scholarship here. The local paper had done a little article on me, ‘genius kid gets accepted to prestigious university’ or something like that, and my dad…” Another sigh. “I guess he decided he wanted something to do with me after all once it turned out I wasn’t a complete failure, that I was just bored out of my mind at school.”

“And?” Jemma asked, hating herself when her voice wobbled just a bit. “What happened then?”

Fitz shrugged. “I told him to fuck off. We’d been doing just fine without him and he probably only wanted me for money or bragging rights down the pub. Better off without him, really.”

His tone might have been almost flippant, but Jemma could tell it was masking a world of bitterness and hurt. She supposed if she had learned to associate Christmas with a deadbeat absent father and the ensuing loneliness, she would probably hate it too. She knew a brief moment of thanks for her stable, happy home life growing up.

“So, that’s why I hate Christmas,” he finished. “Though the music and the forced cheer really do drive me mad. That and spending it alone every year since I’ve been here. I don’t really have any friends and I--I can’t go home. You know, because of the plane ticket being so bloody expensive.”

Jemma was turning it all over in her mind when suddenly, an idea sparked. There was a way she could keep Fitz past Christmas _and_ cheer him up, maybe. It could cheer them both up. At the very least, it was worth a shot.

“You--you could spend Christmas with me,” she blurted.

Behind her, Fitz went very still.

Panic seized her--oh god, it was a terrible idea--and she hurried to add, “I, I could make us dinner.” She turned around to face him and took a small step back, biting her lip as she looked at him anxiously. His hands fell back to his sides. “I mean, it’s a logical thing really, perfectly reasonable...you’ll be alone and I’ll be alone too, and we get on well, right? Don’t we?” She was babbling and blushing and she knew it. “So instead of both of us being alone and miserable, we could be--together, and--not miserable. Like I said, I’ll make dinner and maybe we could watch a movie and...maybe you could bring over some of your designs to show me?” When Fitz continued to stare silently at her, she felt herself deflate as she looked away. “I just thought...maybe--we could make you a nice Christmas memory or two.” She dared a glance back up at him. “If you wanted to.”

Fitz’s forehead was creased like he was trying to figure out a complex equation, and the silence between them dragged out long enough that it became awkward. Jemma took another step backward just as Fitz opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry, you don’t--”

“I’d love to.”

Jemma’s head snapped up in surprise. “Really?”

Fitz nodded once, then again for emphasis. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.” And then he smiled, just a little.

Warmth bloomed suddenly in Jemma’s chest--he really did have a nice smile, it was a shame he didn’t do it more often--but before she could reply, Fitz’s eyes shifted to something behind her. “Look, the bus is here,” he said excitedly. “ _Finally_.”

Jemma turned just in time to see the bus come to a stop at the curb by the shelter, and when the doors opened they both quickly climbed aboard, grateful to be out of the cold and snow. Once they were seated and the bus was moving, she turned to Fitz and tapped his knee. “Can I see your phone?” she asked. “I’ll put my number in so I can send you my hall and room number.”

“Uh--yeah. Sure.” Fitz dug into his coat pocket. “Here, let’s switch. I’ll give you mine too.”

They traded phones and Jemma quickly typed her number into Fitz’s contact list, mentally cheering in triumph. Now she had a surefire way to stay in touch with him. She hit the save button and passed his phone back with a smile. Fitz did the same, and once she had her phone back Jemma brought up her text messages and fired one off to him with her residence information. A second later, Fitz’s phone buzzed.

Peering at it, Fitz smiled and tapped at the screen; then his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Huh. Your dorm’s right next door to mine,” he said in reply to her questioning look. “ _How_ have we managed not to meet before now, again?”

Jemma laughed quietly and shook her head, smiling. “I don’t know. But...I’m glad we did.”

“Yeah.” Fitz pocketed his phone and smiled back, the same small smile that had made her heart glow. “Me too.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence, both of them preoccupied with their own thoughts and the exhaustion that came after a long day of being on their feet. When their stop came they got off the bus and fell into the now-familiar routine of walking across campus together; but when they came to Fitz’s turn, he ignored it and kept walking alongside her. Jemma was unable to keep herself from staring at him. “Are you walking me back to my dorm?” she asked with barely-concealed amusement. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t.” Fitz lifted his chin slightly, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. “But I am.”

Jemma smiled and looked away, blushing. Was this Fitz flirting? Any excuse to spend a few extra minutes with her? Or was he just being polite? Sneaking a glance at him, she was pleased to see the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Possibly actual flirting then. Jemma felt her cheeks burn even hotter and was suddenly glad for the cold air. This was something she didn’t have much experience with, having always been more focused on her studies and much too young for the people around her anyway. But this was nice, she decided--trading looks and smiles and feeling her stomach flip giddily at the prospect of what could be. She could get used to it. She _wanted_ to get used to it.

What was she getting herself into?

She didn’t have time to think on that, however, because they’d reached the front doors to her dorm. “Well...this is me,” she said unnecessarily, scuffing a boot against the pavement and looking at him. “I’ll see you Wednesday, then?”

Fitz nodded. “Last day of work, yes.” He pumped a fist in victory.

Jemma rolled her eyes teasingly at his obvious excitement. Of course he’d be looking forward to getting it all over with. “Right. I’ll just--I better go in.”

Nodding again, Fitz reached out and opened one of the doors, stepping aside to let her go through. “Yeah. Have a good night, Jemma.”

“You too, Fitz.” Giving him one last smile, she went inside, and he let the door close behind her, turning to walk back to his own dorm. She watched him go for a moment, feeling her heart still aglow with that curious joy, before she turned to head for the elevator. First things first, she would get changed out of her uniform. Then she had a Christmas dinner to plan.

-:-

Jemma used the next two days off of work to get everything ready for Christmas. (She wasn’t calling it a date, because it absolutely wasn’t a date, not at all. It was just two friends spending a holiday together.) After a short exchange of texts, she and Fitz had decided on four o’clock Christmas Day, and then she had put together a menu for dinner. Her room had a kitchenette but she wasn’t the best cook and she didn’t want to test her luck on something as important as this--her not-date--so she was forced to keep things relatively simple. Monday was dedicated solely to relaxing; Tuesday morning she spent cleaning her room to within an inch of its life. That afternoon she braved the elements and the bustle of last-minute shoppers to get a small gift for Fitz. It wasn’t anything fancy or special, but it felt like the right thing to do. Hopefully it would be the thought that counted.

Wednesday morning she went grocery shopping. After getting everything put away in her fridge and cupboard, she went to her closet and pulled out her elf dress and candy-striped stockings. _One last time._ Then it would be over. She wouldn’t miss the costume, not really, but she would miss the holiday atmosphere and the music and most of all, conversations with Fitz. Though, there wasn’t any reason now that the last couldn’t happen anymore. Buoyed by that thought, Jemma shrugged on her coat, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and left for work.

Fitz was already there when she reached the workshop, looking as close to being in a good mood as she had ever seen him. He was actually smiling as he ushered two small children in through the front gate, saying something that made their mother laugh, and helped get the children situated on Santa’s lap. It didn’t look forced at all. If anything, when he stepped back and saw her coming, his smile brightened.

Her stomach swooped.

“Jemma!” He joined her off to the side of the photography stage and nudged her with his elbow. “Glad you’re here.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Someone’s in an awfully good mood today,” she teased.

Fitz laughed. “‘Course I am. After today, no more pretending to like all of this crap. No more bratty children, no more rude parents, no more Christmas music rotting my brain, no more _this_.” He pointed to the cap on his head. “Happy Christmas to me, indeed.”

Jemma smirked. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she said as the camera flash went off. She stepped forward to help the children down from Charles’s lap and Fitz showed them the way out of the enclosure. “Just be careful though,” she added over her shoulder. “You might accidentally give people the impression you actually _like_ Christmas.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpanned from behind her, and Jemma smiled again as she went to take her place by the front gate. That was more like the Fitz she knew--though she definitely didn’t mind this newer, happier Fitz.

Since it was their last day of work and also Christmas Eve, naturally the crowds seemed thicker and busier than ever, and time crawled slowly by. They never lacked for people in line for photos, and before long Fitz was back to muttering under his breath. Jemma set her smile and cheerfulness on autopilot. The stress was really beginning to get to her now, but she could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Just a few more hours and she could go home and drink some tea and then-- _tomorrow_.

When the clock finally struck nine and the last child had their photo taken, Jemma and Fitz said their goodbyes to Charles and the rest of the staff and hurried to the break room to clock out and gather their coats and bags. They hadn’t taken more than three steps beyond the mall entrance overhang when Fitz stopped, tilting his face to the night sky and spreading his arms wide.

“Freedom!” he cried, eyes closed and face positively rhapsodic. “Sweet, sweet delicious freedom. I am never stepping inside there ever again if I can help it.”

His enthusiasm earned him more than a few amused looks from curious shoppers headed for the parking lot. Jemma laughed and reached out to swipe at his arm. “Don’t be silly Fitz, it’s the closest mall to campus. I’m sure you’ll be back here eventually.”

Fitz shook his head as he straightened up and started to walk toward the bus stop. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not,” he said seriously, even though he was smiling. “I’ll go all the way out to--what’s the one, the one past Harvard--Watertown. I’ll go all the way to Watertown if I have to.”

Jemma simply laughed again and shook her head, her shoulder bumping against his as they walked. “You’re very stubborn, aren’t you?”

“I like to think of it as a form of self-preservation,” he replied airily. “I hate the place, I have no good memories of it, so why torture myself by going back?”

She pursed her lips, frowning at the sudden slight drop in her gut. _No good memories_. Surely that couldn’t be true--he’d said he was glad he’d met her, after all. That had to count for something. Summoning up a bit of courage, she leaned in to bump shoulders with him again. “No good memories?” she asked lightly, looking over at him. “Absolutely none at all?”

“Well…” Fitz hedged, glancing at her before looking away again. Maybe it was just the cold air, but she thought his cheeks were tinged a bit pink. “Maybe one or two.”

She turned her face away before he could see her smile.

They passed the rest of their trip back to campus with easy, animated chatter. Jemma told him what she had planned for Christmas dinner (he said it all sounded delicious, no surprise there) and Fitz mentioned some of the designs he was thinking of bringing with him. When he missed the turn to his dorm again, she didn’t say anything--she just continued to smile and enjoyed the happy warmth in her chest that she now associated with being near him. Before she went inside, she paused and pointed a finger at him. “Remember, four o’clock tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

Fitz held up his hands. “I wouldn’t dare.” When she smiled, he did too and started to turn away. “Good night, Jemma. See you tomorrow.”

She went up to her room feeling a bit like she was walking on air.

-:-

The next day, however, she was feeling a bit like a nervous wreck.

She’d gotten up at a reasonable hour and had a nice long shower before putting on pajamas and drying her hair. Then she’d taken the food out of her freezer that needed to defrost before rushing over to her desk to open up her laptop for a scheduled Skype conversation with her family.

It went as it had every year that she hadn’t gone home for Christmas. Her parents were enthusiastic and cheerful with their greetings as always, eager to watch her open gifts that they’d mailed her. Jemma smiled and laughed through all of them--a new jumper and a mitten and scarf set, renewed subscriptions to her favorite science periodicals, a tin of her favorite sweets from home that she couldn’t get in America. She asked after their own gifts and watched as they showed them off. Then the conversation drifted to other topics like school and her projects and looming thesis, how she’d fared as a mall elf, how much she missed them all. Before she knew it, a couple of hours had passed and when she glanced at the time, it was half past one in the afternoon.

“Oh!” she cried, looking down at the wrapping paper that now littered the floor around her desk. “I’m sorry, Mum, Dad, I’ve got to go--I need to get all this cleaned up and then I’ve got to start cooking.” At her parents’ curious looks, she added, “I’ve got a friend coming round for Christmas dinner.”

“Really?” her mother said, interested. She knew her daughter wasn’t an accomplished cook and more than that, she knew how rarely Jemma mentioned friends, close ones especially. “I thought you said everyone had gone home for the holidays.”

Jemma leaned over to pick up the discarded paper closest to her. “They did, but--this is a friend from work. It’s sort of a last-minute thing.”

Her father leaned forward. “Oh, is it the Scottish one? The engineer?” Jemma had mentioned Fitz to them a few times before, and the way her face had lit up as she described him, a boy her own age who matched her in brilliance, had not escaped his notice. “Is it a date?”

Jemma’s face flushed scarlet. “ _Dad!_ No. It’s not a date. It’s just--well, we were both going to be alone today anyway so I thought we might as well be alone together.” There was a pause as her words sank in and, if possible, her cheeks burned even hotter. “That’s not what I--oh, you know what I meant. Fitz doesn’t like Christmas much so I thought I’d try to cheer him up.”

Both of her parents were laughing, much to her chagrin. “We do, love,” her mother said, smiling behind one hand. “Good luck with cooking.”

“Don’t set anything on fire,” her father added.

“And let us know how everything turns out!”

Jemma smiled and promised to give them a full report before saying goodbye and closing her laptop. Then she got the rest of the wrapping paper cleaned up before she heaved a big sigh. She had a little over two hours to get everything ready. Two hours before her and Fitz and no one else.

What if Fitz didn’t like some of the food? (Not likely, he’d given off the impression of being a human trash compactor.) What if he didn’t like any of the movies she had on hand? (Not likely either, _Die Hard_ was always a fun Christmas movie to fall back on, and if worse came to worse they could always just watch Doctor Who.) What if he got bored? (They hadn’t run out of things to talk about yet.) What if he showed her his designs and she couldn’t follow along as well as she thought she could, and he got irritated with her? (Well, that was always a possibility…)

Why did all of this matter so much? (She knew why.)

She groaned. Spinning her wheels mentally wouldn’t get her anywhere. There was nothing else for it except to dive in and treat it like a complicated lab experiment. If she focused on each task separately and didn’t allow her mind to get ahead of itself, she would be just fine.

Mind properly focused, Jemma got to work in the kitchenette. There was a pre-sliced turkey breast waiting to warm in the oven--there was no way she was attempting to deal with an actual turkey or ham--along with some dinner rolls and frozen baked macaroni. Once those were safely in the oven she turned her attention to the gravy mix and instant potatoes by the stove. When those were set to simmer separately, she went over to her closet and spent more time choosing clothes than was strictly necessary for something that wasn’t a date. She settled on skinny jeans and a dark red spotted blouse, choosing to keep it untucked, and black flats. Once dressed, she checked on the gravy and potatoes before moving into the bathroom to do her hair and makeup.

She didn’t apply much, didn’t want to overdo it--just enough to look put-together while still being natural--and left her hair down. Then she brushed her teeth and spritzed a dash of perfume before going back out to the kitchenette.

Switching the stove eyes down low to keep the potatoes and gravy warm, she bent to open the oven door and check on the food there. The rolls looked done, so she switched them out for the cherry pie waiting in the fridge. Once that was finished, she stood up straight and dusted her hands off on her jeans, looking to the clock.

Twenty minutes until four o’clock. She went to get some plates and utensils set out on the counter.

At ten minutes until four, she almost went to her laptop to turn on some music before she remembered that Fitz hated it.

At five minutes, she started pacing.

When the clock struck four, she was a mass of buzzing nerves and excitement.

Three minutes after four, there was a knock on her door.

Jemma nearly jumped out of her skin even though she’d been expecting it, and ran to the door. A quick look through the peephole proved that it was indeed Fitz--her heart jumped into her throat--and she yanked the door open.

“Hi,” she breathed, staring.

“Hi,” Fitz echoed, staring back.

It was strange, she thought, to see him in jeans and a jumper over a button-down shirt under his coat instead of his elf costume. But she wasn’t going to complain. Not when he looked, dare she think it, _handsome_.

(She’d thought him handsome before, several times, but it had always been a hard thought to take seriously when he was in his work uniform.)

Then she noticed the small box he was carrying and the cardboard tube tucked under one arm, and she blinked. “Come in,” she said, opening the door wider and standing aside to let him pass. “Sorry, it’s just--seeing you in normal clothes is a bit weird, isn’t it? Since we’re no longer elves and all.”

Fitz chuckled as he came inside and she closed the door behind him. “Yeah, a bit,” he said, moving to her desk to set the box down and lean the cardboard tube against it. “If we didn’t have to turn our uniforms back in, I think I’d burn mine. Good riddance.”

Jemma smiled and took his coat from him after he shrugged it off, folding it over her desk chair. “You know, I might have to agree with you on that for once. They _were_ pretty terrible. My stockings, especially.” After he dropped his scarf on top of his coat, she pointed to the box he’d brought. “Is this a prototype of yours?”

“Oh--no,” Fitz said awkwardly, picking it up and holding it out to her. “It’s for you.”

Her eyes widened as she took it from him, turning it over in her hands. “You got me something?” On closer inspection, it looked to be wrapped in drafting paper. “Fitz, that’s really sweet of you. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he replied, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. He looked nervous. “But I wanted to. You know, because--I mean, it’s not much and I’m sorry about the paper, it was all I had--”

Jemma looked up and beamed at him. “Thank you. And I suppose this is as good a time as any.”

“What?” Fitz asked, confused. She moved to open her desk drawer and pulled out the gift she’d gotten him, wrapped in festive paper left over from her family’s presents. She held it out to him with a smile. He stared for a moment, dumbstruck as if he wasn’t used to receiving gifts, before he took it from her--and then he laughed. “Well, that’s good. Now neither of us have to feel weird about getting each other something.”

Jemma’s smile turned rueful. “Well, you haven’t opened it yet. That might change.”

Fitz arched an eyebrow at his gift. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” she replied. “It’s not anything bad, I promise. _Silly_ , maybe. Go ahead and open it.”

“You too,” Fitz said, and they turned their attention to their gifts. Fitz got his unwrapped first, holding up a small plush monkey as he threw away the paper in her wastebin.

“Because you’re always going on about monkeys,” Jemma explained, watching him closely. “Obviously I couldn’t get you a _real_ monkey, so that will have to do for now.”

Fitz ran a finger over the monkey’s embroidered eyes and mouth. “He’s perfect. Thank you.” Smiling to himself, he set the monkey carefully down on her desk, then gestured to the box in her hands. “Go on, then.”

She’d already torn the paper off, revealing a plain white cardboard box beneath it. Glancing up at him, she opened it to reveal a ceramic mug.

“It’s rubbish, I know,” he said as she took the mug out and threw the box and paper away. He was rubbing at his neck again. “But since you’re biochem I thought it would work because it’s got the chemical equation for--”

“--caffeine on it, yes,” Jemma finished, smiling. She turned it around in her hands before looking up at him. “It’s lovely. And you can never have enough tea mugs.” She reached out and lightly touched his arm before walking to the kitchenette to set the mug next to her electric kettle. Then she turned and clasped her hands together. “So! Dinner?”

Fitz immediately perked up. “Right, dinner, yes,” he said, coming towards her. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. And whatever you’ve made, it smells delicious.”

Jemma laughed and waved his compliment away, feeling shy. “It’s nothing outstanding, so don’t get too excited.” Grabbing her oven mitts, she opened the oven and started pulling everything out. “I had to keep things simple, but--” She closed the oven and switched it off, then turned back to him. “Hopefully it will be edible.”

“It’ll be fine,” Fitz said. “It’s not so much the food--okay, yes it is--but really, it’s the person who made it. The thought and everything.”

There was a moment that stretched out between them just then, one where he smiled at her like she was the sun and her breath caught in her throat because that had felt an awful lot like an admission of sorts, of what she didn’t know, but--then he ducked his head and nodded towards the stove behind her. “Do you need any help with that?”

“Oh--no, no, not at all.” She blinked and smiled brightly at him. “All you need to do is take a plate and serve yourself.” As Fitz eagerly grabbed a plate and started loading it with food, Jemma reached past him to take some glasses down from the cupboard. “I’m sorry about the lack of a table,” she added. “The room didn’t come with one. So we’ll have to eat sitting on the floor, or you can sit on the bed or my desk chair. Is sparkling cider okay to drink?”

“Hmm? Yeah, that’s fine,” Fitz murmured. He was dousing his turkey and potatoes liberally with gravy. “It’s rubbish that we can’t get wine here yet.”

She filled their glasses with cider and left the bottle on the counter in case either of them needed a refill, then grabbed her own plate. “I agree. But that’s still two years away, and who knows where we’ll be by then?”

Fitz hummed quietly in agreement as he added two rolls to the mound of food on his plate. Jemma only just kept herself from teasing him about it, instead letting him pass her back out into the room proper. He hesitated for a moment, looking around, before carefully setting his plate down on the floor next to her dresser. “Don’t want to get anything on your bed,” he said as he came back to get his utensils and cider.

He was already tucking into his food by the time she joined him a moment later, choosing to sit on the floor as well. They kept up a steady stream of conversation as they ate--everything from their favorite professors to their favorite books, from lab disasters to project triumphs, to what they hoped to do once they finished their doctorates. Fitz continued to be very complimentary of her cooking, and she was relieved even though she hadn’t done much more than heat up frozen food. He even went back for seconds and had started on a slice of pie before she’d finished her first plate.

Once they were both full, Jemma pulled her laptop onto her bed and brought up _Die Hard_ to play (“This might actually be the best Christmas movie ever,” Fitz said) before taking their plates to the kitchenette to clean. When he offered to help, she shooed him back to the bed, insisting she could handle it herself. By the time she finished and had put the leftovers away and wiped down the counters, Fitz had pulled one of her pillows into his lap and was hugging it as he watched Bruce Willis run across the screen. “You’re just in time for it to get interesting,” he said as she dropped to sit on the bed next to him.

The movie passed in much the same fashion as dinner. Fitz pointed out things that couldn’t possibly happen in real life, and Jemma had him laughing with her running tally of John McClane’s injuries and her opinion that he would have died from at least four of them as the movie progressed. By the time the credits rolled, they were both clutching pillows and sitting pressed shoulder to shoulder, knees crowding each other on her narrow bed.

“Best Christmas movie ever,” Fitz repeated with satisfaction, wiping away a tear of laughter. “Made even better by your expert analysis. Can we watch all of them that way, now? I think I’d really like to know how many lives Bruce Willis goes through before the end of the series.”

Jemma grinned at him, secretly pleased beyond words that he was enjoying himself. His laugh, she’d decided, was probably her favorite part of the night. She hadn’t really heard him laugh before, and she found the way it stretched his smile wide and crinkled his eyes up hopelessly endearing. That, combined with the thought that he probably didn’t laugh at all very often, made it feel very precious to her and sparked that warm glow in her heart again. The more of himself he revealed to her, the more she found herself wanting to keep him.

She just hoped he felt the same way, even a little.

“Of course, we can watch them all, just maybe not right now.” She nodded towards the cardboard tube leaning against her desk. “What designs did you bring to show me?”

“Ah!” Fitz didn’t seem put out by her sudden subject change; if anything, his face lit up the same as it had when she’d mentioned food. “Here, let me get them.” Setting aside her pillow, he stood and crossed over to her desk to pick the tube up. Popping off the plastic lid, he started to pull a roll of paper out--then paused and turned back to her, his expression just as quickly falling to something guarded. “Just--you can’t laugh, okay? My professors already think I’m half mad.”

Something about his wariness made her stomach clench in sympathy. She understood all too well the frustration of being brushed aside by her superiors. “Cross my heart,” she promised solemnly.

Fitz stared for another moment before nodding to himself and pulling the roll fully out of the tube. “Right. So, one of the projects I’m working on is a set of drones that can be remotely controlled to collect data on an almost limitless range of criteria, but we’ll get to that later. First, I want to show you this.” He took one of the sheets of paper from the roll and went to spread it out on the floor; Jemma stood and grabbed a few books from her shelf to help hold down the edges. Once it was flat, she knelt down in front of it to get a better look. It was a schematic for a gun: a sleek, almost futuristic-looking rifle.

“It’s non-lethal,” Fitz explained from where he stood next to her. “That’s the idea, anyway. Something that can be used to incapacitate a target without dealing serious physical damage. I’ve been working on the concept for years. I call it the ‘night-night gun’.” He frowned. “ _No laughing_.”

Jemma thought the name was only slightly ridiculous, but Fitz had trusted her with this, so she looked up to smile at him before turning her attention back to the schematic. “What are you using for the tranquilizing agent?”

“Ah. Well. See, that’s where I’ve run into a slight problem.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I haven’t found anything that works the way I want it to yet. Either the tranquilizer has too many side effects, or it doesn’t react well with the bullet casing I devised, or all the simulations fail. I haven’t been able to get past the concept stage. Frankly, I don’t know as much about the chemical side of it as I should. I might not have this problem if I’d stuck with chemical engineering instead of changing to mechanical.”

Jemma tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got me now,” she said. “Hmm. Have you tried using dendrotoxin yet?”

“No,” Fitz said slowly, curiously.

“Well, I think--and this is just an idea--that it might be worth looking into.” She pushed up off her knees to stand again. “I’ve done some research on the potential uses of dendrotoxin and there’s evidence to suggest it could really be quite effective as a tranquilizer in humans, even in low doses. And I’m sure that together you and I can come up with a suitable shell casing--something solid enough to put in a magazine, but also able to break on impact with little to no physical damage done. The dendrotoxin would then be quickly absorbed into the skin tissue, causing near-instant paralysis, and there you have it: a safely-incapacitated target.” She folded her arms and smiled.

Fitz was gaping at her like she’d just hung the moon. After a moment, Jemma blushed and shrugged her shoulders, looking away. “Like I said, it’s just an idea. There might be some other--”

“No, Jemma, it’s brilliant,” he said, cutting her off. “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that. Quick--do you have some paper and a pen? I need to get this all down.”

“Of course.” She rushed to her desk to grab a notebook and a pen, handed them to him, and turned to grab her laptop. “I can even bring up some of my research notes if you think it will help…”

The next few hours passed in a blur of brainstorming and an excited, almost frantic back-and-forth volley of words. Once they exhausted her notes Jemma searched for any information she could find online and Fitz dutifully took notes, filling page after page with his small, cramped shorthand. He anticipated every question she had but still let her build and add on to his concepts and ideas, and readily accepted any new ones she had. The way they worked together was effortless. Not for this first time Jemma found herself marveling over the ease of it, of the idea that the perfect partner for her had existed all along, only waiting to be found. She had just never imagined she would find him while working a seasonal job at the mall.

They were finishing each other’s sentences by the time Jemma looked up at the clock to find that it was ten o’clock at night. “Well, I think that’s a good stopping place for now,” she said, setting her laptop aside and standing to stretch. She winced when she felt her back pop. “What do you think?”

Fitz looked at the clock as well and had the grace to look sheepish. “Is this your way of kicking me out?”

Jemma smiled down at him. “Not quite. But I do think we need a break. Come on, let’s get this put away.”

She picked up her books and put them back on the shelf while Fitz rolled his schematics up and slid them back into the cardboard tube, followed by a tighter roll of the notes he’d taken. Setting her laptop back on her bed, Jemma bent over to exit out of her notes and bring her up her music player. Fitz frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I,” she said, moving her finger across the track pad before tapping it, “am playing some music.”

Fitz froze and then groaned loudly when the sound of bells followed by Mariah Carey’s voice filled the room. “Oh no. No, _no_. Please don’t.”

“Why not?” she asked innocently, giving him her brightest smile.

“Because I hate it. You _know_ I hate it,” he said, his face stuck somewhere between disgust and terror. “Christ, Jemma, I thought we were _friends_.”

She only smiled wider. “We are! And I know you hate it, but this isn’t Bing Crosby. This is a _fun_ song.”

Fitz crossed his arms. “You and I obviously have different ideas of what _fun_ means. This isn’t fun.”

“Of course it is! You’ll see.” And as the song slipped into an upbeat tempo change, Jemma started to dance and lip-sync to the words as enthusiastically as she could, raising her eyebrows at him.

Despite himself, Fitz burst out laughing, hard enough that he had to bend to support himself with his hands on his knees. “Sorry, but I’m revising my opinion of you. You, Jemma Simmons, are _mental_.”

She merely beamed and danced closer to him, holding out her hand. “Dance?”

He shook his head. “No. No way.”

“Please?” She pretended to sing another line and bobbed purposefully into his shoulder. “For me? Just one song, I promise.”

Fitz tried and utterly failed to look stern; he was smiling too much. “ _No_. Anyway, I can’t dance. Don’t know how.”

Jemma laughed and gestured to herself. “I can’t either, but that’s not stopping me.” She danced back around in front of him and held out her hand again. “Come on, Fitz. It’s Christmas.”

Fitz rolled his eyes and sighed. “ _Fine_. But just one song. And it’s your fault if I trample your feet.”

It was a disaster at first--she took Fitz’s hand and pulled him in and they stumbled and knocked elbows and knees for a moment as they settled on a position. Her free hand landed on his shoulder as his rested on her waist, and he did step on her feet a few times, but they were both laughing. As with everything else between them, however, it didn’t take long to find a rhythm, and then it was perfect. Fitz smiling and laughing, eyes locked on hers, filled her vision as they danced in small, tight circles around the center of her room, and Jemma wasn’t sure she’d ever been happier than she was right then. Certainly, as his hand at her waist slid around her back to pull her closer, she knew there was nowhere else she’d rather be, no one else she’d rather be with.

To her great surprise and delight, Fitz didn’t let go when the song ended, even though they were both out of breath, and especially when the next song turned out to be slow. Instead his smile turned softer as he readjusted his hold on her, his eyes glowing with something resembling affection. Her heart did a happy little flip as she let her hand on his shoulder drift in, her fingers brushing against the back of his collar. It was every romantic, sappy cliche she had ever read or watched and scoffed at, but now that she was living it herself she could better appreciate the appeal. Logically she knew it was only her brain releasing dopamine into her system, but the science of it didn’t matter so much when Fitz was looking at her like she was everything he never knew he’d wanted.

She was most _definitely_ falling for him.

The fourth song was nearly over when she accidentally let a yawn slip out. Fitz blinked and stopped mid-sway, his hands falling reluctantly away from her. “Okay, _that_ is my cue that it’s time to go,” he said apologetically. “Been a long day, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jemma was loathe to let him go and have the night be over, but she wouldn’t beg him to stay. “I suppose it _is_ getting late.”

For his part, Fitz looked as eager to leave as she did--so, not at all--but he still moved to pick up his scarf from where it was draped over his coat on her desk chair. She went to her laptop to turn off the music and closed it before setting it back on her desk. Fitz had wound his scarf around his neck and put on his coat, and was carefully putting the plush monkey in his pocket. She picked up his tube of schematics and held it out to him. “Do you think I’ve given you enough ideas to keep you busy until next term starts?”

Fitz smiled slightly and inclined his head at her. “That and more, I’m sure,” he said, taking the tube from her. Then there was nothing left to do except walk to her door. He went slowly, Jemma following behind him.

Before he could reach for the handle, though, he turned back to her with a look that was intense for all its quiet sincerity. “Look, Jemma…thank you. For everything. This has been the best Christmas I’ve had.”

Momentarily at a loss for words, she blushed and ducked her head. “Oh, Fitz...I’m sure you’ve had better.”

He shook his head before reaching up to rub at his neck. “No, really. I mean it. This...it was nice. No family problems to worry about, no crap dads, and I wasn’t alone. I thought I’d gotten used to that part, being alone, but…” He shrugged. “Today was good. I spent it with you. And...I’d like that to continue on. If you want.” He gestured between them. “You know--be friends, and all.”

His awkwardness and the barely concealed hope in his voice made something ache in Jemma’s chest, and in that moment she knew that everything in him she’d glimpsed that felt familiar, everything that told her he was a kindred spirit, was absolutely true. And that he saw and felt the same way about her.

“I do,” she said quietly. “Want that.” Her fingers itched to touch him somehow.

Fitz visibly relaxed. “Good. That’s good,” he replied. “Because I could really use your help with the night-night gun.” Realizing how that might have sounded, he cringed. “Or--we could watch more _Die Hard_.”

He was really rather adorable when he was flustered, Jemma thought. “Or we could do both,” she suggested, smiling. When Fitz nodded, she reached out to poke his shoulder. “I’m glad you had a good time. Happy Christmas, Fitz.”

“Happy Christmas, Jemma.”

He gave her the same soft smile as he had when they were dancing, and she felt butterflies in her stomach again. Now would have been the time for him to open the door and leave, but instead he stayed where he was, smiling at her, and she kept smiling back. Neither of them wanted to be the first to reach for the handle and put an end to what had been a lovely evening. The moment stretched out between them again: it felt like they were dangling on a precipice, with only a slight nudge needed to fall either way. But Jemma had never been particularly brave when it came to matters of the heart, and she had just resolved herself to open the door and end things on a friendly, warm note when Fitz took matters into his own hands.

His hand stopped hers halfway to the door and, before she could ask him why, he had taken a step forward and leaned in to press his lips to hers.

It was sweet, careful, and all too brief. A hot shock of surprise ran through her; she had just enough time to register that yes, he was really kissing her, and that his mouth on hers was warm and soft and a million different kinds of wonderful, before he pulled away. Then his cheeks flushed red and hers did too, and he looked away and breathed out a nervous laugh, trying not to smile. Suddenly, letting him leave was no longer an option.

( _No_ , she thought. _This_ was her favorite part about tonight.)

“Maybe...you don’t have to leave just yet?” Her voice trailed up uncertainly on the last word, turning it into a question rather than a statement. Her heart was thudding rapidly in her chest and she felt in danger of floating away, but she didn’t want to make demands. Fortunately, Fitz didn’t argue.

“No?” His was a question too, as if he had the same fears and insecurities. When his fingers tightened around hers, she realized he’d never let go of her hand. “Though...I do have my coat and everything on.”

Feeling bold for once, Jemma stepped into his space and reached up to tug lightly at his scarf before resting her hand flat against his chest. “That won’t be hard to fix.”

Her words had the intended effect: Fitz swallowed thickly before shaking his head, and she smiled as she dropped his hand to pull his scarf off with both hands, a giddy rush of excitement sweeping through her. Fitz was still smiling as she moved past him to drop his scarf back on her desk chair, and after he took off his coat and handed it to her she set it down too. Then she turned back to him, feeling a little shy again even as her hands linked around the back of his neck and his went to her waist.

“So, about you not leaving…” she murmured, lifting her eyes to his.

Fitz’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Yeah. I might have a few ideas.”

Jemma raised her eyebrows. “Oh _really?_ ” she laughed, and when he simply smiled she closed her eyes, shook her head in amusement, and pressed up on the balls of her feet to kiss him again.

This time it was a long one, measured and questioning, and after a moment they both relaxed into it. As he sighed against her mouth and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, Jemma had the thought that out of everything she had received for Christmas, Leopold Fitz was by far the best of them.


End file.
